


Not Until We Are Lost

by HobbitSpaceCase



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Irving is one hundred percent using Tyrell, Irving is willing to do whatever is necessary, M/M, and Tyrell just wants to be loved, dubcon, not at all fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 10:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15661818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobbitSpaceCase/pseuds/HobbitSpaceCase
Summary: "You are important to us, Tyrell.” Irving's grip hardened, expression turning fierce. “You are important tome.”In which Irving takes advantage of Tyrell's weakness post-season 3, and exploits his need to be needed to keep him docile and obedient.





	Not Until We Are Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Mr. Robot kink-meme prompt:
> 
>  
> 
> _idk man; Tyrell is not in a great place this season and Irving seems like the type to take advantage of that. Not picky about the specifics! :)_

“Why didn’t you tell me about Joanna?”

Irving paused in his inspection of Tyrell’s kitchen. When he turned, a pitying smile graced his sharp features. “I wanted to spare you the pain of her death,” he said, meeting Tyrell’s harsh blue gaze with unflinching sincerity. “It was wrong of me, maybe, but I was trying to protect you.”

“Bullshit,” Tyrell spat. "You lied to me! You _used_ me! And now I am alone." The last part was low, Tyrell's gaze skittering away as he admitted something Irving was not meant to hear. His blond hair was in disarray, wayward strands sticking up at the back and more falling into his eyes, and his tie was undone over a wrinkled shirt. Overall, he looked an absolute mess.

“Congratulations, by the way, on your promotion at E Corp,” Irving said. He turned back to the cupboards, riffling through a spice cabinet full of saffron, vanilla beans, and whole cinnamon sticks in fancy glass jars, before moving on to the next cabinet. “Where do you keep your coffee? We have a great deal to discuss.”

He didn’t bother moving out of the way when the squeak of expensive leather shoes against the tile floor warned of Tyrell’s advance. Tyrell gripped his arm with bruising strength and spun him around, pinning him against the counter. Rage flowed from his countenance in waves that Irving soaked in with the same bland smile.

_“What are you doing in my house?”_  Tyrell growled. It was almost an impressive show, except for the part where both of them were too aware of what would happen if Tyrell harmed so much as a hair on Irving’s head for the threat to mean anything.

“As I said, we have much to discuss,” Irving repeated. He gently but firmly removed Tyrell’s hand from his arm, and then used it to flip their positions without warning. The height difference between them made it easy for Irving to loom, expression gone cold and hard. “Your part with us in not finished, Mr. Wellick.” A sudden smile flickered over his face, hardly softening his features. “Things will go much more smoothly if you cooperate.”

Tyrell met his eyes for only a few brief seconds before deflating like a popped balloon. All the energy drained from him, the stiff lines of his body collapsing into something soft and breakable, and he looked away. “What more do you want from me?” he asked, voice quiet and full of pain. “My wife is gone, Elliot betrayed our work, and you have turned me into a  _puppet_  dancing on your strings. What more do you have to take from me?”

Irving sighed, taking in the broken man in front of him, and made a decision. Tyrell was not entirely wrong; he would be of no use to anyone if he didn’t have anything left to believe in or fight for. Lucky for him, he was an attractive man, and Irving had always held a soft-spot for men as pretty and shattered and slightly unhinged as Tyrell Wellick had become. He forced his hands to be soft as he raised them to cup Tyrell’s face and lift his gaze back up.

“We take, yes, in the service of something greater than either of us will ever comprehend,” he said, gentling his voice to match the stroke of his fingers over stubbled cheeks. “But the Dark Army does not take without giving back, as well. You are important to us, Tyrell.” His grip hardened, expression turning fierce. “You are important to  _me_.”

Tyrell’s searching gaze found nothing but the honesty he so desperately wanted to see in Irving’s eyes. The desire to be important to another, to be valued and loved and needed, that was the weakness that lived like a tumor in Tyrell’s heart. A tumor Irving was happy to feed and grow, if it would keep the puppet happy and productive for as long as his skills and image were needed.

“Please,” Tyrell whispered, as his arms slid tentatively around Irving’s waist. “Please.”

Irving wondered if he even knew what he was pleading for, or if it was just dumb animal impulses spouting out whatever words might get him what he could not admit to craving.

“Shh,” Irving said, smiling softly. “I’ve got you.” Tyrell melted when Irving bent down to kiss him. He softened like clay beneath Irving’s touch, shrugging out of his clothes with haste and little finesse, sloppy and eager as a virgin. He only broke away when Irving’s hand moved between his legs, making a breathless demand that they move to the couch in the living room at least, somewhere less harsh and sterile than the kitchen. In this request, Irving could oblige him.

The sex was as messy and base as such things always were. Sinking his cock into Tyrell’s soft, yielding body felt little different than sinking the ax into Santiago’s chest. The briefest moment of resistance, and then a body opened up and invaded and forced to submit. A necessary act to keep the Dark Army’s soldier’s in line, and a raw, animal way for Irving to relieve the tension that coiled into the base of his spine at the same time. Even Tyrell moaning and gasping beneath him was not so different from the final wheezing gasps his ax had dragged from Santiago’s unsuspecting throat.

At the end, both of them messy and sticky with sweat and semen, Tyrell looked at him with glowing, rapturous blue eyes. Eyes as clear and unassuming as the open sky, the sort of eyes that betrayed a man who would never be cold and calculating enough to achieve his ambitions. 

“We need your loyalty, Tryell,” Irving said. He brushed a callused thumb over Tyrell’s soft cheek and kissed him again. “Please, will you help us?”

The answer was written all over his face before he even spoke. “Of course.” The breathless promise came unhesitating from the soft heart beating beneath Irving’s other palm. “I will be loyal to  _you_ , I swear.” 

“You are truly a remarkable man,” Irving said, projecting barely masked awe into his smile. “It has always been a pleasure to work at your side. But now, let us get cleaned up. The work is not yet done, and you are needed by others as well, not only by me.”


End file.
